Aiden woke with a start, a sharp, jarring kind of awakening that left his chest tight and his mind heavy. The room was bathed in soft, golden light streaming through a half-closed curtain. Dust motes floated lazily, dancing in the air like tiny, aimless stars. But the familiarity one expects when waking somewhere safe was absent. Every surface — the worn carpet, the pale walls, the small, tidy bed — was foreign.
He blinked, trying to piece together where he was, but his memory slipped through his fingers, elusive and fragile. It was like reaching for water: every time he thought he had a handle on it, it seeped away.
His hands trembled as he sat up, gripping the sheets, the coarse fabric scratching lightly at his skin. "Where… am I?" His whisper sounded foreign even to him, weak and uncertain. There was no echo of certainty in his own voice.
From the corner of the room, a figure shifted. Kairo. Aiden's chest tightened in response — a mix of longing, fear, and something unnamed. He should know this person. He wanted to. But the face… it was just out of reach, blurred as though smeared on glass. He remembered nothing of Kairo, and yet there was something stubbornly familiar about him.
"You're awake," Kairo said, his voice soft but steady. There was a carefulness in the way he moved forward, each step deliberate, like approaching a fragile object. "Don't worry. You're safe."
Aiden tried to speak, but words caught in his throat. "I… I don't remember…" The words were hollow and heavy, but they carried every ounce of panic he felt. He tried to grasp at the fragments of his life — flashes of laughter, a hand brushing his own, a voice calling his name — but each vanished almost instantly.
Kairo knelt beside the bed, placing his hand over Aiden's with deliberate gentleness. The warmth anchored him, and for a moment, he could almost pretend that everything was okay.
"It's alright," Kairo said. "I'll help you remember. Step by step. You're not alone, Aiden. You never were."
Aiden wanted to believe him. He wanted to remember. But all he could do was stare, searching for a connection he couldn't locate. The anxiety clawed at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind, but beneath it was a faint spark — a flicker of something, maybe trust, maybe recognition, maybe hope.
He looked around the room again, trying to anchor himself. A small desk sat under the window, covered with scattered papers and notebooks. A chair was tucked neatly underneath, and a single book rested on the nightstand. Everything screamed ordinariness, yet he could not place himself within it. The bed, the curtains, the sunlight — they were all real, and yet they belonged to someone else's life.
"Do… do I know you?" Aiden asked finally, his voice barely audible, choked by frustration and fear.
Kairo's lips pressed into a thin, careful line. He hesitated before speaking. "I know you," he said softly. "And you'll know me too, in time. Right now, it's okay that you don't remember. It doesn't mean you won't."
Aiden swallowed, trying to steady himself. "But… I feel like I should know you," he said. The words were shaky, almost desperate. "I feel like… I'm forgetting something important."
"You're not forgetting," Kairo replied gently. He shifted slightly, pulling the chair closer. "You're just… in between memories. Some things are still hidden, trapped in your mind. But I'll help you find them. All of them."
Aiden's hands curled into fists over the blanket. He wanted to scream, to cry, to demand answers he didn't have. Instead, he took a shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the present. Kairo's calmness, his patience, felt like a lifeline, even when Aiden didn't understand why.
A flicker of something came to him — a smell, maybe, or the way Kairo's hand rested near his own, hesitant yet familiar. A fragment of a feeling, like a shadow of a memory. His chest tightened again, and for a moment, he felt something almost recognizable.
"You've been here for me," Aiden murmured, almost to himself. "Even when I… even when I can't remember."
"Yes," Kairo said. His voice was soft but firm. "Always. And I'll keep being here, no matter what you remember or forget."
Aiden closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. He could feel the tension in his chest ease slightly, though the emptiness remained. It was like holding onto a rope dangling over a dark void — not knowing where it would lead, but desperate not to let go.
He opened his eyes, trying to take in Kairo fully — the slope of his shoulders, the careful way he watched him, the faint worry lingering in his gaze. There was a familiarity that teased the edge of his consciousness, like a whisper he couldn't quite hear.
"I want to… remember," Aiden said finally. His voice was quiet, but there was determination beneath the fear. "I want to know who I am… and who we were."
Kairo reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Aiden's forehead. The contact was small, but it sent a spark through Aiden's chest — warm, grounding, almost unbearably intimate. "And you will," Kairo said. "Step by step. I'll be with you. You're not alone."
Aiden wanted to believe it. He wanted desperately to remember. Somewhere deep inside, he felt that promise was real. Somewhere, fragments of his past were waiting.
For now, all he could do was cling to the flicker, the warmth, and the steady presence of Kairo. Somewhere, somehow, the pieces of his memory would return — and when they did, he wouldn't face them alone.